


the sun tracing your outline

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, please let daryl dixon smoke a joint, why do we never talk about daryl's past drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: No words are right; I can't describe the sun tracing your outline. And just a touch, that's enough, to burn me down and get me high...Daryl Dixon just wants to get high. Too bad Beth Greene has a million questions and some tricks up her sleeves.Or, the one where we finally acknowledge Daryl's history with drugs.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Comments: 106
Kudos: 127





	1. And just a touch, that's enough, to burn me down and get me high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. this oneshot came to life because of 3 things. 
> 
> 1\. when merle talks about daryl taking bad shrooms in 'chupacabra'  
> 2\. norman saying he'd grow weed in the apocalypse and that when asked what color his eyes are, he says 'red'  
> 3\. DARYL DIXON DESERVES TO SMOKE A JOINT AND CHILL THE FUCK OUT 
> 
> title and summary from the song 'feel for you' by boy named banjo IT'S SUCH A BETHYL SONG
> 
> i have no idea what universe this takes place in but please enjoy

“If there aren’t any laws anymore… Do you think it’s still against the law?” Glenn asks thoughtfully, observing their latest find and Daryl can’t help it. 

He snorts. 

“Glenn!” Maggie chides and Glenn shrugs, not bothered by her scolding. “What are we going to do, bring it back to the prison? Plant it next to the corn and the wheat?” 

“Sure.” Glenn doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll have Beth’s little herb garden, Rick’s fields, and then over in the corner, the good stuff.” 

“Glenn.” Maggie rubs her forehead. “We are on a run for medical supplies.” 

“This is medicinal,” Glenn retorts and Daryl loses it entirely. It’s too damn funny. There’s certain upsides to the apocalypse, one being that now when they want something, they just take it. No worry about having money for it or bills. Sure, the tradeoff is that you sometimes have to battle through walkers to get to it. But Daryl can handle that. The other upside to this world is that when you stumble upon shit like this, it’s pretty damn funny. 

A huge patch of someone’s clearly beloved and well-tended marijuana stash. There are some weeds now, slightly overgrown, so whoever had been growing it here must be dead or moved on. But the plants are in good shape, made hardy by the Georgia sun and humidity. It’s a pretty decent crop, in Daryl’s opinion. If Merle was still around, he’s probably be pissing his pants in excitement at it all. 

“Did you even smoke before all this?” Maggie demands of Glenn, who shoots her an amused look.

“Babe, I was a college dropout delivering pizzas. What do you think?” 

“Did you?” Daryl asks Maggie in amusement because he’s glimpsed a wild streak in the eldest Greene daughter. It’s probably been tempered by grief and getting older, but Daryl’s seen the way her eyes light up when she can find herself in a little bit of trouble. 

“Once or twice,” she admits, barely hiding a grin. “Till Daddy caught me and grounded me for the rest of my natural born life. Probably am still grounded if you ask him.” 

“Listen. It’s not like it’s meth or crack,” Glenn is rationalizing, “it’s just weed. We should take just a little bit back.” 

“You think getting high with walkers on our doorstep is the best course of action?” Maggie asks him, though Daryl can tell her resolve is slipping. 

“We’re in the prison. It’s not a big deal,” Glenn tells her, before glancing at Daryl with a smile. “Right?” 

“Mhmm.” Daryl is staying firmly out of this. 

“How are we even gonna get it back, huh?” Maggie points out and then both she and Glenn slowly turn to Daryl. 

Once, it might’ve made him bristle, to have them look at him expectantly like he’s the go-to authority on drugs and mind altering substances. It doesn’t now though; it’s not that they look down on him for this knowledge, they just accept that it is part of him. Daryl isn’t sure when the distinction occurred to him, only that it means everything to him now. 

He tosses them each a knife. “Better start cutting.” 

* * *

They reach an agreement that they’ll cut a few plants and take them back to start drying, hanging them in the weapons locker that is just offsite of the prison. They have a week or so for that process, at which time Glenn (by force of Maggie) is to tell Hershel and Rick what they’d found and his intentions for it. Daryl would pay money to be in on that conversation but he doesn’t really care about the outcome so he’ll just wait till Glenn’s done to give him shit for it. 

“Well?” Maggie asks, when Glenn comes out to where she and Daryl are unloading the medical supplies to be taken to the infirmary. 

“Well, Rick went full Officer Friendly for a minute there, and your dad say that you are still grounded,” he tells them and Daryl chuckles. “But then they came around on the fact that we’re all adults here and can make our own decisions. They asked us not to make a production of it or spread it around the prison. And kids are a no go, obviously.” 

“But they’re going to let us keep it?” Maggie looks shocked, like she never expected to get this far. 

“Yeah.” Glenn grins. “Munchies probably won’t be the same though, not when our options are fried squirrel and stale crackers.” 

“You gonna help us out?” Maggie asks Daryl, glancing at him. He shrugs, knowing that they probably don’t have any ideas how to do it, but not really wanting to slip into the drug dealer role. 

“First go round,” he concedes, since Maggie and Glenn look so excited. “Then you’s on your own.” 

* * *

He means what he said. He’s not going to start a bud farm with Maggie and Glenn. But he does teach them how to hang the stuff up, to dry it out, and then how to let it cure in glass jars. Hershel does allow that it can be used for pain management and so the word gets out what they’re tending to. More people ask for it than anticipated; everything from anxiety to arthritis to sleeplessness gets vetted by Hershel and then distributed. 

Glenn had been right; end of the world means an end to laws. 

Daryl eventually takes a few joints. Protocol on it is the same as cigarettes; not in the cell blocks, not in the common area, and not around anyone who isn’t alright with it. It also follows the same standard as alcohol; not to be done while on guard duty or on runs. So Daryl just waits for a calm, quiet, balmy night when he can make his way over to where they’ve got a few hammocks set up in a secluded area, legs sprawled out, staring at the neatly wrapped joints in the palm of his hand and his crossbow dangling from the side of the hammock. 

“Whatcha doing?” 

Beth startles the shit out of him. 

“The fuck?” he demands, glancing over his shoulder. Beth is standing there, in her boots and jeans with a sweater wrapped around her torso. Her head is tilted to the side and her eyes appraise him curiously, blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder. For once it’s not pulled back into a ponytail but hanging down loose and a little messy around her wide and innocent face. Beth simply blinks at his language. 

“Carol told me to see if you’d finished your thoughts on the run to the mall out west on 62, said she wanted to give you a heads up that she wants to talk about it at the next council meeting. But you took off so fast after dinner she didn’t have time to ask you,” she explains and he sighs. “Whatcha doing in the hammocks?” 

“Peace’n quiet,” he mutters and Beth’s lips quirk. 

“Sorry, I’ll leave you be,” she tells him politely and he sighs as she turns on her heel to walk away. He shouldn’t be so rude with her. Girl spends her entire life trying to make things easier for everyone else, including him. She always washes his clothes, even when they’re filthy after a run or hunting trip. She always saves him something from meals, even if it is just throwing a crunchy, crumbling granola bar at his head to make sure he eats. She’s nice to everyone, and he’s stuck being some jackass. 

“Wait,” he calls back and Beth stops, glancing over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean… Didn’t mean you had to go.” 

He feels awkward as all hell when he says it. Isn’t sure how Beth is going to react — not even sure how he wants her to react. But then she smiles and comes back over, looking down at his hands pointedly before asking, “it’s not just peace and quiet you want, right?” 

"The hell?" he glares at her. How does she know? Beth's smile slides into a smirk. 

"You always sneak off when you're doing something like this," she informs him. "Whenever you find a new pack of smokes or something. And since I caught Maggie the other day, I figured you'd have some too." 

"Where'd you catch her?" he asks, to distract from the fact that he's unnerved at how well Beth knows him. She laughs and climbs into the hammock opposite him, laying back with an arm behind her head. 

"She was over by the library, smoking," she tells him, looking up at the darkening sky. "I thought there was a skunk who got in, so I went to check. Just Maggie, hiding from Daddy, like she was 17 again. You know, you can smoke that in front of me, I don't mind." 

She's looking pointedly at the joints still in his lap. Daryl glances at them and then back at her, unsure. She certainly doesn't look bothered; she's relaxing in the hammock, face calm, eyes averted. He fiddles with his lighter, still feeling like he shouldn't. 

"You sure?" he mutters and Beth shoots him a grin. 

“Maggie and Shawn never asked. They just did it,” she informs him and for a wild second, he wonders if she’s smoked — perfect, angelic Beth Greene. The idea makes him snort as he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it, noticing that Beth has lifted her head up and is looking at him. 

“What?” he demands and she raises one eyebrow as he exhales the smoke. The rush hits him a moment later and he finds himself relaxing. 

“You’re the one who’s over there laughing at his own little jokes. Gonna share?” she asks him, real sassy-like, and he rather dumbly looks at her before figuring why the hell not? She’s not a kid anymore, and Maggie can’t yell at Beth for something she brought here in the first place, so he leans over and offers her the joint between two fingers. 

“Fine."

Beth takes it without hesitating and he watches in a trance as she lifts it to her lips. He feels a bit guilty for giving it to her, but he has no way of knowing if Maggie’s doing the same thing and really, is it his job to protect her from this shit? She might be the prison’s very own princess, but he’s never given her reason to believe that he’s the good sort of guy. Not like type of guy like Glenn or her daddy. 

“For the record,” Beth says, after exhaling some smoke and coughing slightly, “I was asking you to share the joke, but this is nice too.” 

“Wha—“ he gapes at her. “Girl!” 

“What?” Beth takes another drag before he nearly topples their respective hammocks, trying to claw it back from her. She laughs and hands it over, apparently unbothered by his glare. 

“Gimme,” he orders darkly. “The hell’s Maggie gonna say, huh? Your daddy?” 

“I’d tell Maggie to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine,” Beth says stoutly. “I learned to smoke by watching her.” 

“You ever even smoke before?” Daryl demands, suddenly in a panic. Can someone OD from one hit of weed? She’s such a teeny thing, she probably could be the first. 

“I once smoked a cigarette after a football game when I was 14. Coughed up a damn lung too. Never got into it," she informs him with a tiny smile. 

“Well you shouldn’t,” he grumbles, resolving not to even let smoke blow in her face. Thankfully, the knowledge that this thing was last touching Beth’s lips doesn’t occur to him until after he’s put it back in his mouth, but he’s still struck dumb. 

“Maybe you’ve got an oral fixation,” Beth muses and Daryl chokes on his inhale, coughing and spluttering while Beth watches him and giggles. “Daryl, you okay?” 

“Nah,” he grits out, still feeling like he’s swallowed his own tongue. “The hell?” 

“Oral fixation,” Beth repeats, her hand reaching out so insistently for the joint. It’s Merle’s fault that he hands it to her automatically; the gesture is a habit from the nights of splitting shit with his brother. Beth takes another slow drag while Daryl watches, hating that he's not brave enough to stop her. “It’s when you, like, didn’t get to put stuff in your mouth as a kid. So as an adult you do it a lot. So people smoke cigarettes or bite their nails.” 

Daryl stares down at his rough hands and the ragged skin around his nails then looks up and glares at Beth, who grins back. 

“Alright, enough of that,” he growls and she willingly hands the joint back over. He resolves to smoke it as quickly as possible so that she doesn’t have a third chance at it. Doesn’t matter how high he gets. Just can’t get Beth Greene high too. 

"You know, I don't know why Maggie likes this stuff so much," Beth remarks idly. "I don't even feel anything. How long is it supposed to take?" 

Daryl blanches. "Ain't you never smoked weed before?" 

"No." Beth giggles, and Daryl feels like he's sinking deeper and deeper into trouble. Why the hell did her first time getting high have to be with him? His fondness for her is waning. 

"Fuck," he mutters, wondering what kind of hot water this is going to land him in. 

"Want me to leave you alone?" Beth asks him a little worriedly and he sighs. As much as he wants her to go, the worst thing he can do now is send her stumbling back to the cell block where everyone will be able to tell that she's been hanging out with him. Maybe if he just keeps her right here with him until it wears off, no one will be any wiser about what they're getting up to. 

"Why'd you smoke it then?" he demands instead and Beth glances at him like she's not sure if this is a trap. When he doesn't look at her, she goes back to looking at the sky. 

"Trust you, I guess," she says softly and his head snaps to look at her before he can stop himself. What the hell does that mean, Beth Greene trusts him? 

"Huh?" 

"Maggie'd never let me," Beth explains. "Her and Shawn, they were always so overprotective. Never letting me get into half the trouble they did, cause I was the little princess or whatever. Maggie could sneak around with boys and smoke cigarettes and keep a handle of vodka stashed under her bed but if I so much as sassed daddy, they'd be acting like I killed Jesus Christ himself." 

Daryl can see that. Despite the fact that Beth is all grown up now in a world that demands harshness, Maggie still fusses over Beth when she gets so much as a paper cut. They all trust her to look after the most valuable thing they have in Judith, but act like she can't be trusted to shoot a gun or take down a single walker. 

"Why me?" he grunts and Beth's lips curve into a slow smile. 

"Cause I knew you'd let me and wouldn't get mad," she says simply and he grumbles something because he thinks he is mad, maybe, but then she adds, "and I know you would take care of me. Figured if something went wrong, you'd know what to do."

"Yeah?" he slides his gaze over to look at her, skeptical as to what this means. If she thinks he's got some sort of experience in dealing with bad trips. The thing is, he has, but he feels a bit of anger that Beth knows that and has to look down on him for that. It burns in his chest, the same way it always has when someone who thinks they're better than him looks down on him. "Cause I'm the authority on drugs, huh?" 

"Daryl." Beth's tone is calm and even, her face smooth and unbothered. "I've met Merle. I know you're not a drug addict. But he was." 

Oh. Right. He forgets that sometimes, that Beth had interacted with his brother before his death. He knows, of course, Glenn and Maggie's opinions on Merle and they're less than charitable. Beth probably hates him for what he did to her sister, but she'd also seen his final act, saving Michonne. 

"So?" he questions harshly, to stop the thoughts that fight in his head. Beth knows he's not his brother. _Beth thinks he's redneck trash, same as Merle._ Beth trusts him. _Beth assumes that he knows drug because he's trailer trash._

"So that's why I came to you." she finally turns her head and looks at him. "Because you're not overprotective of me. But you won't let me do anything stupid either. Because... You're Daryl." 

He watches the joint burn down, her words knocking around his skull. How can someone like Beth Greene even begin to understand him? With her big house and her perfect family and the way that love and care oozes out of her entire being. She doesn't have a scar on her, save the one she dragged across her own wrist. Her daddy never raised a hand against her. Never been in a fight or had to find her own food. She's loved, wanted, cherished. How can she know him? 

He finds himself wanting to try anyways. 

"Never liked this shit," he mutters, flicking ash from the joint off. Beth looks at him, swinging gently in the hammock. 

"Weed?" she asks softly and he nods. "Why not?" 

"Merle started smoking it when I was a kid," he tells her. The truth is that there isn't a time that Daryl can remember of his big brother when he wasn't on some form of drugs, but the harder stuff came later. "Hated the smell. Like a skunk crawled in the house and died." 

"Yeah, I always thought Shawn's car stunk like he hit something dead," Beth replies and flashes him a smile. He almost manages to return one back. 

"House already smelled like shit," he keeps talking, buoyed by the fact that she's not running away from him. "Mom smoked like a freight train. Or at least she did, till she died. Dad did too, but cigarette smoke isn't as bad as this shit. You know?" 

"Yeah," Beth says, even though she shouldn't. Maggie probably always smoked outside and Daryl recalls the farmhouse, with it's sun soaked, honey floorboards and white washed walls. She's never seen the yellowing, peeling wallpaper or the ash-soaked carpet. "That why you smoke cigarettes?" 

"Nah." he does not want to think about his damn oral fixation. "That's just addiction. Start smoking those things, can't ever stop. Just trade it for something else."

"Like what?" Beth asks and he shrugs. 

"My mom drank. Wine, mostly. Dad smoked, drank, whatever the hell he could get his hands on. And Merle... Merle did everything." he doesn't even bother to list off the drugs there. Beth won't know any of them anyways, he's sure about that much. 

"Did you do anything?" she asks and he would bristle, would raise his hackles, but she asks it in such a gentle tone and he's getting pretty high, so instead of snapping at her, he just sighs. 

"Sometimes. Ain't gonna pretend I'm perfect," he mutters and Beth simply blinks. 

"You don't have to be," she says and he stops, looking back over at her. 

Doesn't he? Doesn't he have to prove himself to these people? Doesn't he have to show them that he's worth something, that he's not who he looks like? Who he came from? They all know that he's not from the same cloth as Glenn or Rick or Hershel. Doesn't he always have to be on his best behavior, for them? To keep being part of this family. 

"Yeah?" he asks a bit dumbly. 

"Maggie isn't," Beth states simply. "Or Glenn. Not even Rick. Especially not my daddy. And not even me." 

_"Pfffft."_ he shakes his head. "You're Beth Greene. What you done wrong?" 

"Lots of stuff." she grins at him. "I could be a wild child. You don't know." 

"I don't?" he raises an eyebrow. "Spent all winter with you, remember?"

"That was surviving. This is living. I could do some wild stuff here, cause it's safe," she explains and he concedes her point with an incline of his head. "So tell me what you've done. Lord knows I'm never gonna have a chance to try anything." 

"Living vicariously?" he accuses her, but without any real bite. 

"Through you?" Beth shoots him a smile. "Maybe." 

He hedges. He doesn't really want to expose this to Beth, to show her what kind of man he was before all this. But she doesn't expect him to be perfect. Hell, she can't expect that, cause she knows Merle. She knows Daryl. And she doesn't look down on him. So he sighs. 

"Started smoking this." he flicks the end butt of the joint. "Probably 13 or so. Mostly cause Merle was, you know? Just... Something to do, I guess. Liked it better than drinking, cause it never made people mean. Just... Calm. Merle liked other stuff." 

"But not you," Beth guesses and he feels a weird sense of pride at the tone of her voice. Proud that she knows him, knows that he's different from his brother and all the other tweakers from their old neighborhood. He'd never gotten into stuff the way Merle did. But he'd tried stuff, and he feels like he can't lie to Beth.

"Did some stuff though," he admits to her, bracing himself for the judgement or the scorn. Instead Beth just glances at him, eyebrows raised. 

"Like what?" she asks and it's not with condemnation in her voice. It doesn't even have the curiosity of a sheltered girl learning about drugs for the first time. She could be asking him why he likes purple more than yellow, or why he hates sleeping with socks on. Just asking about him. 

"Stuff," he mutters and Beth waits him out, waits until he can talk properly about it. He fiddles with the other joints, idly wondering if he should smoke it. "Psychedelics, mostly."

"What are those?" Beth asks and he can't help but shake his head a little bit, at this girl who is so completely innocent and protected. Reminds him just how shitty it is of him to be the one ruining her, but he can't stop. 

"Mushrooms, DMT, LSD, that stuff." he looks over at her to see the little frown on her face. Not mad at him though. Mad at herself for not being able to understand. 

"Why?" she questions simply and he struggles to give her an answer that will make sense and won't reveal too much. He can't have one without the other so he sighs and throws caution to the wind. 

"Just didn't want to be me for a bit," he mutters, staring down at his hands. He jumps when he feels a small hand on his shoulder, looking over at Beth. She's reaching out across the gap between the two hammocks, her eyes on him. She looks a bit sad, but it's not pitying. Daryl knows that look and this ain't it. 

"Did it help?" she wonders and he gives a one shouldered shrug, careful not to throw Beth's hand off. 

"Sometimes. Sorta. Got Merle off my back, mostly. Not really proud of it," he admits and is somewhat surprised to realize it's the truth. 

"And you never got addicted." Beth says that like it's fact, like she knows. He glances at her, wondering how she can have such faith in that, in him. She's still got her hand resting on him, though it's slid down some from his shoulder to more the bicep area. He subconsciously flexes slightly, cheeks warm. 

"Nah. Couldn't afford to," he tells her, thinking about the times he'd make a few bucks and spend it on smokes and snacks. "Most of the money we had, Merle spent on drugs anyways. Not like there was a whole lot for me, after, and Merle didn't like to share." 

"Didn't seem like the kinda kid who watched Sesame Street growing up," Beth observes and Daryl snorts. 

"Nah, mostly John Wayne movies," he informs her and Beth gives a little gasp. He turns to look at her. 

"Which one's your favorite?" she demands and he blinks. 

"You know John Wayne movies?" he can't say that he's not surprised. Always took Beth for more of a 'today's top 40 and rom-coms' type of girl. 

"Daddy loved them," she tells him with a laugh. "Always had one on Sunday's after church. It was the Lord's day so we had to rest. That usually meant a western and sitting on the couch together." 

Daryl can about imagine it. Hershel with his perfect family in their big house, all dressed and cleaned up for a service in the little white-washed church. He wonders if they attended the church that they looked for Sophia in. He doesn't bring that up to Beth. 

"True Grit," he tells her and Beth gives a huff, rolling her eyes. 

"Of course it is." 

"And what's yours?" he questions her and Beth looks at him, grinning. 

"A Quiet Man, obviously." 

"That ain't a western," he protests and she frowns at him. 

"Still John Wayne though." 

"Nah, don't count." 

"Fine." Beth laughs, such a pretty sound. "Stagecoach then. If you get to say a classic, then I do too."

There's a long pause of quiet between the two of them, but it's not the uncomfortable sort of silence. It's actually nice, the gentle breeze keeping them cool and the brilliant sunset making Beth's hair glow golden. The smell of the joint has disappeared and Beth's hand is still curled around his upper arm, a pleasant weight. 

"You okay?" he asks her softly and Beth hums. 

"Yeah. Just feel sort of... Floaty," she replies and he nearly smiles, shaking his head. 

"Lightweight," he accuses her and she laughs. 

"Daryl?" she turns to look at him, eyes wide and honest and kind. Daryl glances at her and suddenly loses his ability to breath. Maybe it's the weed and the fact that he's high after ages of not smoking. Maybe it's the fact that she sees him for who he is and never once judges him for it. Maybe it's the fact that he can let his guard down around her and she's never ever hurt him. Or maybe it's just the way the sun traces her outline.

He thinks he might be in love with her.

"Yeah?" the words come out through his dry mouth. 

"Would you mind if we kept doing this?" Beth looks like she's anticipating him biting her head off. But Daryl thinks about it. Afternoons and evenings off duty, lounging in the hammocks with Beth. Talking about everything and nothing. Bickering about old John Wayne movies and why she knows Tom Waits songs. Maybe he'll tell her about his chupacabra and that time he had a bad trip and saw the ghost of his mother standing in the flames of their house and he was burning too. 

"Yeah." he grabs the second joint and lights it, needing something to do with his hands and his mouth that doesn't involve Beth Greene. "Yeah, we can keep doing this." 

And he hands her the joint and he knows there's gonna be hell to pay, but he's alright with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not advocating for drug usage obviously but
> 
> i'll be damned if the idea of high daryl and beth spilling secrets to each other doesn't appeal to me. might there be more chapters of this? possibly. is there a plot? certainly not
> 
> reviews are the kindest friends


	2. there's nothing I can say, nothing I can do, to make you feel the way the way I feel for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH 
> 
> you guys like my silly little oneshot??? of these two idiots getting high? and maybe (spoiler alert) sharing more than just a joint?
> 
> as always. honored. 
> 
> LET'S TELL THE CHUPACABRA STORY FRIENDS

"I'm so sorry," Beth pants, skidding to a stop in front of the hammocks. Daryl, busy untangling the headphones, only glances up at her with a slight frown. 

"Judy?" he asks, voice rough with concern. Beth shakes her head, reaching up and undoing the ponytail that's too tight to her skull. It's been driving her nuts all day but she hasn't had time to let it down. 

"She's just fine." Beth gives a little sigh of relief when the tension on her head relaxes and she scratches her scalp with her fingernails a bit aggressively. "Rick's got her. Maggie was the one holding me up." 

"Maggie?" Daryl looks up sharply at that and Beth knows he is worrying about; she waves it off with a shake of her head, pulling her fingers through her hail. She catches the braid she's weaved into it as she reassures him, 

"Not cause of this. Just cause she wanted me to help her with her turn on dishes." Beth rolls her eyes. "I told her no, she never helps me. Then Daddy told me I was being unkind so I did, but I wasn't very happy." 

"Ain't you sweet?" Daryl mutters before kicking his boots off and reclining in the hammock with a grunt. 

"I do try." Beth toes her boots off as well and slides into his hammock right beside him. 

They've been doing this for a few weeks now. No more than once a week, usually on the nights where Beth doesn't have Judith and Daryl doesn't have a run or a hunting trip or guard duty. Those constraints makes for some slim pickings, but they've managed to sneak away a few times. Sit in the hammocks together. Share a joint or two between them. Maybe a little bit of conversation too. 

"Here." Daryl hands her an earbud and Beth looks at him in some surprise. Apparently tonight, they'll have music too. 

"What's this?" she asks him curiously, because they've found a few mp3 players and CD players and even a boom box. But it's not like they have a way of getting any new music onto them. She wonders what's on this one, for Daryl to have claimed it. 

"Some stuff I liked," he mutters, lying back so their shoulders are pressed together. They'd started sharing a hammock the second time they did this, because Daryl got anxious passing a joint back and forth so openly. But usually they sit head to feet, so that Beth can watch his face. His expressions usually say more than his mouth ever could. Not tonight though; the earbuds means she'll rest her head just beside his, looking up into the night sky. 

Beth pushes the earbud into her ear, Daryl doing the same. He doesn't press play at first but instead pulls out one of the joints and then his lighter, fiddling with it while Beth waits patiently in silence, her hand just outstretched. He still doesn't like the idea of her smoking, still acts like if he waits her out she'll change her mind and go back to being some innocent girl. Beth won't though. Beth likes their little tradition. 

It's not even that she likes getting high. She mostly likes that it gives her an excuse to hang around Daryl, without a baby on her hip. She loves Judith, she really does, but if Daryl has the choice between Judith and literally anyone else in the world, he'll always choose Judith. And Beth doesn't blame him, because she would too. But these nights, Beth gets his full attention and she selfishly enjoys that. 

"Thanks," she says sweetly, when he gets the thing lit and offers it to her after he takes a drag. He grunts and then turns his attention to getting the music to work. Beth takes her first inhale just as he presses play. 

The music sounds familiar. Not familiar enough to be a song that she liked and listened to and learned to play in the past, but familiar like she's heard it before, drifting under the door from Shawn's room or from the stereo in one of the old work trucks. She listens to the lyrics, silently brushing fingers with Daryl as they trade the joint back and forth.

_"Everybody trying to tell me that you didn't mean me no good. I've been trying, Lord, let me tell you, let me tell you I really did the best I could. I've been working from seven to eleven every night. I said it kinda makes my life a drag. Lord, that ain't right, no no. Since I've been loving you, I'm about to lose my worried mind…"_

Beth likes the music. It's not quite what she might have listened to on her own time, but it's pretty. Mostly, she likes that Daryl seems to to be enjoying it, relaxing more than he usually does. At first, Beth had only gotten maybe one or two hits because Daryl would smoke the rest like a demon. Now he shares it a bit easier, letting them split it more equally. Beth doesn't get too high but it's nice. It's nice to relax and forget everything for a second. 

Daryl is humming along to the music, his fingers tapping out a little rhythm on his jean-clad thigh. Beth hides a smile as she takes the joint from him. She's gotten better at smoking, at not choking on the exhale. It's a weird skill to be proud of, she thinks, but she's also pretty proud of the fact that she can wield a machete and aim a sniper rifle so she's not going to think about it too much. 

The songs switch and Beth listens, feeling that same vaguely floating feeling that she's come to associate with Daryl and the hammocks. A few lines drift through her psyche, catching and sticking there even after the strains of music have passed.

_"Oh, you don't know what you're missing, now. Any little song that you know; everything that's small has to grow..."_

_"Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true. Wanted a woman, never bargained for you..."_

_"Need a woman gonna hold my hand. Tell me no lies, make me a happy man..."_

_"I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl. On my way, I've been this way ten years to the day. Ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams..."_

_"I know what it means to be alone. I sure do wish I was at home. I don't care what the neighbors say, I'm gonna love you each and every day..."_

_"Hey, girl, stop what you're doin'. Hey, girl, you'll drive me to ruin. I don't know what it is I like about you, but I like it a lot..."_

_"Find a queen without a king; they say she plays guitar and cries and sings..."_

They finish off the joint before the music dies; in fact, the sun has set entirely before the music dies. Beth just lays side-by-side with Daryl, swinging in the hammock together. When the songs finally fade into nothingness, she reaches up and pulls the earbuds out, her hand brushing Daryl's knuckles on the way back down. 

"I really liked it," she says softly and he chuckles. 

"Course you do," he mutters with that slightly exasperated tone he takes with her sometimes, "it's Led Zeppelin and you're high."

"What's that mean?" Beth asks him and feels his shoulders move up in a shrug. 

"It's music from the 60's and 70's. It's music for getting high," he informs her and Beth turns to look at him, trying to see if he's teasing her or not. He doesn't tease very often, but Beth likes to catch it when he does. 

"Well I like it no matter what," she says stoutly and Daryl turns to look at her, eyebrow quirked and mouth frowning, about to make some comment or quip, only to freeze. 

They've never been so close. Beth is suddenly wildly aware of every little thing; the salt and pepper of his scruffy and patchy beard, a tiny mole just above his upper lip, the crags and creases in his face, the utter alarm in his blue eyes, uncharacteristically wide. It's suddenly hard to breathe when it's the air he shares and she stays as still as she can, lest she move and shatter this moment between them. 

Daryl's eyes flit down to her lips then snap guiltily back up to her eyes. She's not as subtle; she cannot look away when his tongue pokes out to dampen his lips and suddenly she has the desperate, urgent need for something to distract her, to occupy her hands or her mouth or maybe both at once. 

Now she thinks she understands Daryl's oral fixation. 

"I ever tell you about the time I saw a chupacabra?" he asks her abruptly, looking back up into the night sky and Beth feels like all the air has been sucked away from the earth. She swallows hard and mirrors him, looking away like that's going to help the fact that she's suddenly hurtling through time and space. 

"No," she breathes, trying to get a grip on herself. This is just Daryl. Just her good friend Daryl. She's just high. That's all. "Like the myth?" 

"Ain't a myth," Daryl corrects her and Beth's mouth turns up into a smile. "I know what I saw."

"What did you see?" Beth asks him, trying not to offend him by laughing. Daryl huffs but settles in, his shoulder brushing against hers as he wiggles around. Beth holds as still as she can, worried about scaring him off. 

"Was going on a squirrel hunt," he starts, biting the skin around his thumbnail. Frowning, Beth smacks his hand away and he glares at her. 

"You should break that habit," she tells him and he grumbles something under his breath before folding his hands over his stomach, giving her a pointed look. 

"I was going on a squirrel hunt," he resumes and Beth hides a grin. "But Merle came home early. Been fucking around with some of his tweaker buddies in Atlanta." 

"You didn't go with?" Beth asks him lightly and Daryl snorts.

"Nah. I hate the damn city." his fingers tap on his stomach and it makes Beth smile a little, wondering if he's even aware of how he can't stay still for more than a few moments. "He came back though with a bunch of different drugs." 

"Oh." Beth isn't sure why Daryl tells her these stories. She's pretty sure that he doesn't tell them to anyone else. Sometimes, if she thinks about it too hard, she thinks there's something there. But that's usually only very early in the morning or late, late at night. And Beth isn't inclined to trust herself during those times. "What'd you take?" 

She's not sure why Daryl doesn't get mad at her when she asks questions like this. She knows he gets mad at other people. One guy from Woodbury had joked about Daryl having a stash or something. Daryl had left the prison and hadn't come back for three whole days and after that, everyone had left it be. But Daryl doesn't do that with Beth; usually he sighs or groans and mumbles something until she nudges him and then he tells her the stories properly. 

"Mushrooms," he states after a long pause. Beth glances at him, frowning slightly. 

"Like... Spaghetti and meatballs mushrooms?" 

"Nah." she can hear the smile in his tone. "Like psychedelic mushrooms."

Beth doesn't know what those are. But the one thing Daryl never does is judge her or be mean to her. So she's comfortable enough asking, "what are those?" 

"Like, they're actually mushrooms," he explains without any judgement. "You eat them. I didn't feel shit, or at least I thought I didn't, so I decided I'd so get some food. That's when it all went to shit." 

"How so?" Beth is watching Daryl's hands and she catches herself thinking about what it would be like to reach over and take them. 

"Got into the woods and the trees were talking to me."

"They what?" she looks at him in alarm, only to realize when he almost smirks that of course, they're talking about drugs. The trees weren't actually talking to him. That would be ridiculous. Trying to save some face, she demands, "what were the trees saying then?" 

"Not anything good," he mumbles but with a tiny little smile. "Started with this whole thing about how I was somewhere I didn't belong." 

"Were you?" Beth asks him pointedly and he avoids her eyes, muttering, 

"Might've been. But they didn't need to be assholes about it." 

Beth can't help it. She starts to giggle. Daryl looks over at her, so affronted that she wants to tell him she's sorry, she's not laughing at him, but all she can do is giggle even harder at his wounded little expression and try to squeeze words out. Eventually, Daryl's face smoothes out from anger into something like incredulousness and then amusement and he shakes his head at her. 

"Tell me... Tell me about the chupacabra," she orders him, once she's gotten herself back under control, stray giggles still escaping on occasion, especially when he raises his eyebrows. He resumes the story though, grunting and shifting around again. 

"Trees were freaking me out," he informs her a bit darkly, "so I found a friendly one and climbed in it." 

"Friendly one?" Beth questions and he glares at her long enough that she hushes again. This is his story to tell and she'll stop interrupting.

"Stayed up there half the night, waiting for that shit to wear off. Trees to stop talking and the leaves to stop moving and all that other shit. Thinking about how the hell I'm gonna find my way back to home and Merle. And then I saw it, off past some of those trees."

"The chupacabra?" Beth asks, when he's quiet for a moment again and he nods. 

"Yeah. Thing had its teeth in some poor possum. Sucking the blood out of it. Took a shot at it, but missed, and the damn thing ran away." he shakes his head. 

"Why didn't you get out of the tree and track it?" Beth asks him curiously. Daryl can track almost anything, so why not a mythical creature?

"Tree didn't want me to leave," he informs her, like that makes any sense at all and Beth works really hard to swallow her laughter. "Not till the sun came up, anyways. Then I guess I was sober enough to get down and get back." 

"And no chupacabra to be found?" Beth teases him gently and he grunts. 

"I know what I saw." 

"Yeah, I bet you did," Beth replies with a little laugh, thinking of a high Daryl up a tree, watching some mangy dog and thinking it's actually a chupacabra. 

She doesn't find it odd or scary that Daryl's done drugs. Past Beth might have been freaked out by that. Or at least pretty nervous of it. But the old world, the old rules, they don't apply here. And so she's not weirded out or judgmental about it. Just makes him all Daryl. He's never given her a reason not to trust him. And Beth has met quite a few people and she still thinks Daryl is one of the best ones out there. 

They're probably both sober again. The music is done and the sun has long ago set, both of them still rocking in the hammock together. Usually at this point, Daryl would roll off the hammock and walk off into the night, silent and taciturn as always. Beth usually stays a little bit longer before heading back into the prison, just in case anyone were to catch them coming from the same area and question it.

But tonight they stay side by side and Daryl's hands are clasped over his stomach and Beth's are down resting on her thighs and she thinks about reaching over and taking his hand. Interlacing their fingers. Clasping them, holding him tight. What would he do? 

But she's not brave. So she stays where she is, listening to the sound of his chest rising and falling steadily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the people said 'let them share a hammock' and the writer obliged! 
> 
> the songs are all led zeppelin songs! in order of appearance: 
> 
> since i've been loving you  
> the song remains the same  
> dazed and confused  
> black dog  
> ramble on  
> good times bad times  
> communication breakdown  
> going to california
> 
> I don't know why i am obsessed with the idea of daryl loving led zeppelin but they have such bethyl lyrics!!!


	3. sometimes late at night I stay up to watch you dream, 'cause I can't believe my eyes when I see you next to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day!!! 
> 
> my valentine's gift to you all is apocalypse cupcakes and some good old fashioned Dixon family angst. 
> 
> enjoy!!!

"Hey." Daryl bumps Carol's shoulder gently. She glances over at him, a smile crossing her face at the sight of him. 

"Hey you." she's sorting through the clean clothes, ready to go back to their owners. "What's up?" 

"Nothing." something is up though, but Daryl is trying to work up his courage to spit it out and ask her. Not that he's scared of her reaction. No. He just doesn't quite trust the words to come out right. He fiddles with his belt buckle, mumbling."Might... Need some help." 

"Yeah? With what?" Carol looks at him with concern, only to relax when she sees he's not tense because he's anticipating trouble, but because he's nervous. A mischievous smile blooms over her face and she stops folding the clothes, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. "With what, Daryl?”

He sighs. Looks right. Looks left. Looks anywhere that’s not the all-too knowing smirk of his best friend’s face. Then he picks at the skin on his hands and admits with a huff, “I need something.” 

“What?” Carol looks all too delighted at his awkwardness and he has the nagging sense that she knows, that she's just barely resisting the urge to make some smart comment about it. He takes a deep breath and steels himself. 

“Cupcakes?” Daryl asks, tugging on his beard self-consciously and Carol wordlessly mouths it back to him like she doesn’t comprehend the word. Then she narrows her eyes, staring him down. 

“Daryl Dixon.” her tone means he can’t argue or worm his way out of this. “What on god’s earth do you need a cupcake for? And where the hell do you think I’m going to find one in this mess?” 

How the hell is he supposed to tell her that he needs a cupcake because the last time he and Beth were together, she said that the thing she missed most was cupcakes? And now all Daryl can think about is how happy she’d be if he somehow pulled off a miracle and made a cupcake materialize in the middle of an apocalypse. But he doesn’t know if he can tell Carol all of that and maintain the ability to look her in the eyes. Cause then she'll really know. 

“Whatcha need?” he demands instead, to distract her from the fact that his whole face is reddening. “To make one. Whatcha need?” 

Her mouth quirks and it’s not quite a smile, but it’s close. 

Carol’s list turns out to not be that long or that difficult to obtain. And she makes him the cupcake with frosting with minimal questioning, and presents it to him the evening that he and Beth are both free from all their various duties around the prison. So that’s his offering to her this evening; two joints and one vanilla cupcake with frosting. He approaches the hammocks apprehensively, wondering if he’s beaten her here or the other way around. Sometimes he’s late. Sometimes she is. But tonight, they get there at seemingly the same time; Beth rounds a corner at the same time he stops by the hammocks. 

“Hi!” Beth smiles so widely at the sight of him and it makes him flush from head to toe. She shouldn’t be so happy to see him. But he’s been watching her carefully around the prison and she never smiles like this unless it’s the two of them. He’s never quite sure what to make of that. But he likes it. He’s beginning to really, really like that. 

“Hey.” he is suddenly acutely aware of how silly he looks, standing here with a cupcake in his hands. He holds it out to her with no explanation and Beth blinks, looking at him and then at the cupcake before her eyes flicker back up to him. 

“What’s that?” she asks him quizzically, gesturing to the cupcake and he briefly panics, wondering if he’s overstepped some bounds of some sort or that she forgot what she said about cupcakes before she slowly smiles. “Is that really a cupcake? For me?”

“Yeah.” thank god she always knows to talk when he cannot. Beth reaches out and he carefully hands her the cupcake, trying not to smush it or mess up the frosting. Beth’s face is lit up with such precious happiness as she stares at the little creation and then she beams up at him. 

“Is this all for me?” she asks him and he damn near smiles. She’s so lovely and he knows that usually, she shares any and everything she receives. Her food is split with the kids that crowd around her at meal times and she shares her clothes with Maggie and her time with anyone that needs anything at all and she gives everything, every last bit of herself to Judith, to the little girl who needs her more than anything. 

“Yeah. Just for you.” 

“I wanna wait,” she declares, smiling up at him. “We’ll split it, after, okay?” 

“Don’t have to share,” he tells her, not wanting to be just another person who takes from her without ever giving back. She deserves something all her own, that was the whole point. Beth laughs, sitting down in the hammock and swinging her legs into it. Daryl sits down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, legs pressed together. Daryl likes the way she radiates warmth, so much warmth for such a small being. She carefully balances the cupcake on her stomach and then holds her hand out. 

"You always share with me, Daryl Dixon. We can split the cupcake, just like we split your weed." 

He's not going to argue, because it's been so long since he's had something sweet. And so he hands over the joints and his lighter. Her nimble fingers make short work of all of it and Daryl feels a pang of guilt that he's the one that has taught her all of this, he's the bad influence in her life, but he fights that off by reminding himself that Maggie smokes too, and Beth doesn't have to be perfect. It's okay. He's worthy of being with her. She's trying to teach him that and he's fighting to believe it.

They pass the joint between the two of them in silence until it's gone, and then Beth exhales out her entire breath and picks up the cupcake, twisting and turning to examine it. Daryl is high, but the familiar anxiety of this gift makes his fiddle with the lighter, waiting for her to speak. 

"Might not taste the same," he blurts out finally, when she doesn't say anything. "Can't get some stuff anymore, but Carol thought she could make it work." 

"Daryl Dixon," Beth says seriously, turning to look at him with a smile. "This is going to be the best cupcake ever. I know it." 

He can't breathe with how beautiful she is. And then she brings her finger up and swipes at the frosting, sticking her finger in her mouth and sucking it clean off. Daryl's brain short circuits at the sight of it, and then dies entirely when Beth does it again before offering him the cupcake. Automatically, he opens his mouth and takes a bite. 

"Damn," he mutters in surprise. Because it actually tastes like a cupcake might've, before. Carol must be able to work magic, because it's good. It's really good. 

"Is this the best cupcake you've ever had... Or am I just high?" Beth asks him in shock, now staring at the thing. 

"Still wanna share?" he asks her and Beth laughs, taking another bite. It's more like a nibble, and she ends up with a bit of frosting on her nose. Daryl can't resist; he reaches up and cleans it with a swipe of his thumb, bringing it to his lips for a taste. 

"Yes," she breathes, having gone still at his touch. Daryl fears having overstepped, but Beth is still right there beside him, as close as ever, smiling and holding half a cupcake.

Daryl leaves his thumb in his mouth until Beth offers him another bite. 

They finish the thing in silence, Beth taking the last bite and sighing in contentment. He lights the second joint and they split that too, until they're both pleasantly high and the sun is set and they're still side by side in the hammock, listening to the breeze in the trees and the sweet sounds of walker snarls. Daryl closes his eyes, wondering the last time he had a cupcake, even before all of this. 

It makes him think of his mom, and the time when he was in second grade and wanted to bring treats to his class for his birthday. All the other kids did it, brought brownies or cookies or something. Daryl asked her if she would make cupcakes or something for him. And she'd promised. He'd trusted her, got all excited, told some of his classmates. And then the morning of his birthday, after he'd pulled on his shoes and his backpack, he'd rushed to open the bedroom door and ask her where she'd put the treats. 

She didn't even wake up and that as when when he knew she'd never made them at all. 

"You know what a bad trip is?" he asks Beth, staring up into the stars and trying not to feel eight years old again. 

"No," Beth says softly. 

"When you take something and it goes bad," he says and Beth turns so that she is facing him, expression somehow both peeved and amused at the same time. 

"I could've guessed that, Daryl." 

"Nah." he knows how stupid he sounds and he struggles to get the words out in the right order. "It's like... Feels like the whole world is ending and you're in the middle of it." 

"You've had one," Beth correctly surmises and he sighs, nodding. 

"Yeah." 

"On what?" she asks gently and he follows the constellations in the sky, one to another. His mom was the one who taught them to him, pointing out how they changed and shifted with the seasons.

"Acid." 

"Oh." Beth lets silence drag between the two of them for a long time, but when she speaks, her voice calm and even as it always is when they talk about this stuff. Gentle, the way that he needs her to be for all of this. "Do you want me to ask what you saw?" 

"Yeah." Daryl's been thinking this a lot lately, about telling Beth about this. Terrifies the shit out of him, but then so did the cupcake and that went over pretty well. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he should at least try. "You can." 

"Okay." Beth takes a breath. "What'd you see, Daryl Dixon?" 

"My mom," he says softly and hears Beth's little hitch, the way she swallows hard. And then, to his surprise, her fingers tangle with his and she squeezes. And his chest hurts, suddenly feels too damn tight. And he shuts his eyes, before tears leak out. 

"You can tell me, if you want," she tells him gently, thumb rubbing over his lightly. "Or not." 

"Knew it was gonna be a bad trip from the start. Didn't feel right. And when I started seeing shit, I... Saw her in our house," he mutters, grounded by Beth's hand in his and her warmth pressed to his side. "When she burned it down. Saw her standing there, in her nightgown, all the flames around her... She wasn't burning though. She was just standing there, like she was waiting for someone. For me. And... I tried to help her. I was screaming at her. Trying to get her out. And she wouldn't. Rather die than come with me." 

It'd scared the hell out of him at the time. The memory still does. Flames licking up the side of that yellowing nightgown, once white but then stained over time. Her long, brown hair, messy and tangled down her back, her blue eyes staring at him without seeing. And he's kneeling in the front lawn, screaming and begging for her to save herself, trying to battle the heat from the flames but it's no use. She won't go. She dies. And Daryl can't do anything about it. Useless, as always. 

Beth doesn't say anything. Beth simply holds his hand and leans her head on his shoulder and lets him breathe through the pain and the memories that are rising. 

It wasn't that his mother was a good one. In fact, as far as mothers had gone, she was a pretty bad one. Never stopped his daddy from beating Daryl black and blue. Never cared if his clothes were dirty or ripped. Mostly she cared about there being a full bottle of wine within her reach and that she had a fresh pack of Virginia Slims in the house. Never made him treats to bring to school on his birthday. 

But she was still his mother.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Beth tells him carefully, when his breathing has evened out and he feels less like he's going to spiral out of control. "Her death... And that. I'm really sorry, Daryl. You didn't deserve any of that." 

He looks at her, wide eyed. For some reason, the idea that he didn't deserve all the bad things that happened to him seems almost novel. But of course Beth thinks that. Beth thinks he's someone to smile at, someone she's willing to split a cupcake with. 

She's someone who will hold his hand. 

He really should get up and go. The sun is setting, but he and Beth are still lying side by side in the hammock together, fingers tangled together. And for the first time, Daryl doesn't feel the unending tension that's been coiled in his gut for as long as he can remember. He'd think it's the weed, flowing through his system and calming him down, but he knows better. Daryl's been smoking weed for a long time, but it's never been like this. Even high, he's still thinking about what might be happening, what might come. What disaster is going to come for him, like it always does. 

It's not the weed that relaxes him. It's Beth. 

For Daryl's entire life, he's always been worried about addiction. Seen his mom fall to it, his dad, Merle, every person he grew up with. Everyone had vices and sooner or later they would drag you under. The wine that rendered his mother immobile, and the cigarettes that sent the whole house up in smoke. His father with the whiskey, voice slurring as he pulled the belt from his hips and Daryl cowered in a corner. Merle, diving into any drugs that he could get his hands on, desperate for an escape and willing to do anything for the next hit or enough money for another score. Daryl's just been waiting for him to find something that he likes enough to never want to give it up, something that he loses himself in. Imagined it might be weed, moonshine, or anything else. 

Never imagined it'd be 5'5 blonde girl with big blue eyes and a smile that makes him feel like he's on fire from the inside out. 

He turns to look at Beth, wondering what she's thinking. But Beth isn't thinking anything, because Beth is fast asleep. She's got her head leaning against his shoulder and her mouth is slightly open, face slack in sleep. He finds himself having to fight down a smile at the sight of her but he loses that battle. He goes back to looking up at the stars as they start to wink into brightness above him. He begins to count them as they appear, and then suddenly he finds himself drifting off, his hand in Beth's and his head leaning against hers, both of their chests rising and falling softly. 

He sleeps better in a hammock with Beth than he does alone with a proper mattress. 

It's Beth shifting around that wakes him up. He grunts in protest at first, thinking of the times he and Merle had crashed in hotel rooms or on friends' couches, Merle splaying out everywhere and Daryl curling in on himself. But Merle doesn't usually twine arms around Daryl's neck, or rest of his head on Daryl's chest. And Merle certainly doesn't have hair that tickles Daryl's nose and chin, and a little bit stuck in Daryl's mouth. He opens his eyes slowly, letting his other senses tell him what's going on. 

Beth is on her side now, one leg pulling over Daryl's leg. Her head is tucked into his collarbone, nose nuzzling him gently and her blonde ponytail splayed everywhere. Daryl can feel her breath, soft and slow, and despite the chill of the night he's quite warm from the contact with her. Carefully, not wanting to wake her up, he reaches up and gently moves the hair off of her face, smoothing it back and away. Beth's mouth twitches up at the contact and she snuggles deeper into him. Daryl gingerly places his head back down where his cheek rests against the top of her head and closes his eyes again. 

Someone might find them in the morning. But he doesn't think he cares. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm writing this and i'm like 'this is still a fun oneshot, right? lighthearted fun about smoking weed together? RIGHT?'
> 
> the angst is unavoidable friends. hope you enjoyed my exploration of daryl's past!!!


	4. you hit me like a heart attack, like broken glass, every time I fall apart you put the pieces back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to part 4 of the nonsense friends
> 
> this chapter includes more angst because 1. who i am without it and 2. daryl dixon urgh
> 
> enjoy

"Have you seen Daryl?" Beth asks Glenn, biting the inside of her cheek in worry. Glenn glances up at her, frowning, setting down the rag that he's been using to wipe the dishes. 

"No. Why?" he frowns slightly, looking around at the people who linger after dinner. The problem is that Daryl is not amongst them. And he wasn't with anyone who came in for lunch, and Beth hasn't seen him since this morning when he should've been coming off guard duty but didn't. 

"Just..." Beth doesn't know how to explain to Glenn why she's so worried about Daryl being gone. By all accounts, she shouldn't even notice his absence. But tonight he doesn't have guard duty and Beth doesn't have Judith and that would usually mean hammocks and joints. But not if she doesn't have any idea where Daryl is. 

Telling Glenn that she’s looking for Daryl because it’s time for them to get high seems like a really stupid thing to do. 

“Hold on.” Glenn turns and looks over his shoulder. “Rick!” 

“No—“ Beth starts to protest but Rick is already walking over with a concerned little frown, Judith on his hip. 

“What's going on?” he asks in worry and Beth feels the heat on her cheeks as she smiles at Judith to distract herself from the awkwardness that’s to come. 

“Beth’s looking for Daryl. You see him around?” Glenn informs him and Rick glances at Beth, his frown deepening. 

“Something wrong?” he questions lowly and Beth drops her gaze and then casts it around the prison yard again in the hope Daryl will materialize. 

“Just haven’t seen him around is all,” she mentions with what she hopes is a casual shrug. “Wondered if he was off hunting or something.” 

“No, not that I know of,” Rick states, now looking slightly worried. “Should be here.” 

“It’s fine!” Beth is starting to panic. She didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that she’s looking for Daryl, but now she really doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact that Daryl is missing. If he’s not making himself known, it’s probably for a good reason. He probably wants peace and quiet and solitude and now Beth’s gone and sounded a red alert. 

Besides, it’s not like he can’t take care of himself or anything. 

“When was the last time you saw him?” Rick demands of Glenn in a low voice and Beth runs her hands through her hair, agitated. 

“It’s nothing,” she tries to insist. “I’ll just—“ 

“Guard tower? Library?” Glenn is rattling off. “Storage room? His bike here?” 

“I’ll find Carol,” Rick declares and Beth waves her hands. 

“No, no, it’s nothing, it’s fine,” she urges them and is roundly ignored. 

“Find Maggie; if his bike is gone we’ll need a search party,” Glenn is rattling off. “Think we should keep it small, no reason to panic anyone, Daryl knows how to…” 

Beth leaves them to do whatever it is they’re going to do. They’re not going to listen to her anyways and now she’s got to warn Daryl about the fact that everyone is looking for him. If she can find him first, she’ll at least give him a heads up on the brigade that’ll be storming the prison to disrupt whatever he’s doing. There’s probably zero chance that they’ll be able to have their time in the hammocks tonight, but that’s not what Beth cares about. She has to warn Daryl and make sure if he wants to remain unfound, he can. She owes him that. 

She checks out all his hiding spots. The guard towers. The horse stalls. The bridge and the library and his room and even the machine shed where he sometimes roots around in for parts. Beth is just about out of ideas when she recalls that there’s a building on the very edge of the prison, near the breach they’d patched up. Just a storage locker. But maybe he’ll be there, since most people avoid that side of the prison. 

The door is slightly open. Beth tries to make as much noise as possible as she approaches, so that she can warn Daryl that she’s coming. Once she’s given him enough time for that, she grabs the door and opens it slowly, looking inside. Daryl is sitting there against the wall, crossbow leaning against his shins, staring vacantly at the other wall. Beth slowly shuts the door behind her and then asks carefully, 

“Daryl?” 

“What?” he grumbles, unmoving. 

“You, uh…” Beth isn’t sure what to say now that she’s found him. He seems to be upset. Or at the very least, he’s skipping their evening together for a reason. Maybe he’s embarrassed that she fell asleep on him last time. He didn’t seem upset, when they woke up in the wee hours of the morning. He’d just given her a soft little smile and then they’d gone their separate ways. “No one has seen you. We were starting to get worried.” 

“Why?” he grunts and Beth slowly sits down against the door, unwilling to leave him in such a state. 

“Cause we get worried when you’re gone, Daryl. Especially when you leave without telling anyone.” 

“That what it is?” he demands and Beth stops talking to him at the bitter and mocking tone he’s taken. “Everyone missing me? Looking out for me? Why? Cause I’m like Rick? Hershel?” 

“What do you mean?” Beth asks him in concern and Daryl’s laugh is a hollow, biting thing. 

“Think I don’t hear shit Beth?” he questions her harshly, still looking at the opposite wall and not at her. “Think I don’t know?”

Beth blinks, trying to catch up with just what the hell he might be talking about. She doesn't have a clue, but obviously it's something major, for him to be in such a state over it. “Daryl, I…” 

“Heard you in the laundry room, with all the other women,” he spits, getting to his feet and facing the back wall. His whole body is trembling and his shoulders are punched up nearly to his ears. Everything about him just radiates tension. “Talking about me.” 

“We…” Beth wracks her brain, trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. She can’t remember talking to Daryl about anyone, let alone some of the other women in the laundry room, of all place. “Daryl, what?” 

“Saying that you can’t stand him. Hate whenever he tries to talk to you, hates that he’s always watching you.” Daryl finally looks at her, glaring and Beth’s jaw drops. 

“Daryl,” she tries to explain herself. “Daryl, I wasn’t — that wasn’t — I was…” 

“Don’t fucking matter,” Daryl scoffs, waving a hand. “I know what the fuck I am to you.” 

“It’s not like that!” she insists, scrambling to her feet and Daryl has crossed the floor to her in three steps and about a single second. 

“Then what’s it like, huh?” he yells, looming over her and waving a hand. “You coming running to me for weed and whatever else, but then you say I’m a bad guy to everyone? You get what you need from me but to everyone else you’re still America’s sweetheart? That all I am to you? The dealer? White trash you wanna take a spin with? Living vicariously through me, making me talk about drugs and shit? You tell everybody then, just how fucked up I am after all?” 

For a second, Beth is speechless with… Fear. 

The crossbow remains on the ground where Daryl left it. But he’s still six feet of solid muscle and broad shoulders and hands made rough by hard work and a hard life. Beth knows what he can do, to people and to walkers alike. Daryl is an imposing figure and though she knows — trusts — that Daryl won’t hurt her, it doesn’t make up for the fact that he’s still that much bigger than her and that he seems pissed. Beth's seen him lose him temper before and she's also seen him fight. She'd never stand a chance against him, not if he is really angry. He makes her realize just how small she is. 

She shrinks away, like she’s anticipating him striking her. An instinctual reaction she cannot stop.

And Daryl freezes, standing above her, staring down at her. 

The anger ebbs off his face, replaced with horror. It’s as though he suddenly becomes conscious of the positions they’re in; Beth backed up against the door, one arm raised defensively in front of her body and Daryl standing over her, arms flung out. Then abruptly he moves away from her, retreating all the way to the other end of the little room and keeping his back to her. Beth exhales a breath she wasn’t aware of holding. And she holds very, very still, keenly aware that if she takes a misstep now, she might ruin everything. 

Her voice is shaky when she finally finds it, but she finds it nonetheless. 

“I wasn’t talking about you,” she says quietly. “I would never, ever say anything like that about you. Because I know it's not true. I was talking about that Dayton or Daxton kid. Whoever. But not you. Never, ever about you, Daryl Dixon.” 

And with that, she leaves him behind. 

* * *

Beth gives him a week. And she only gives him that long because he takes off on a hunting trip for a few days, so she has to. But she waits until he has a free night and then she heads to the hammocks. She’s not above stealing joints from Glenn and dragging Daryl there by his ear. She doesn’t have to do so; when she turns the corner, Daryl is already sitting in the hammocks, shoulders slumped, looking down at his hands. Beth approaches him, then clears her throat. 

Daryl spooks like a startled animal, jolting to his feet and spinning around with wide, wild eyes. Beth watches him, not moving until his shoulders drop somewhat and he seems to relax a little bit. In his hands, Beth can see the glint of his lighter and she feels the corners of her mouth turn upwards.

Good. Maybe this conversation will go better if they’re high.

“Hello,” she says softly and all Daryl does is offer her the joint mutely. It reminds her so much of the first night, when she hadn’t even wanted to smoke but had done so because she wanted to share something with him, something that was just between the both of them. So she takes the joint and then his lighter, taking a long drag with the now familiar taste in her mouth. 

“I…” he swallows hard and Beth simply offers him the joint and then sits down on a hammock. Daryl doesn’t join her on hers but he does sit on the one opposite her. Beth will take that as a win. 

For a few minutes they simply trade the joint back and forth quietly. Beth isn’t going to push him before he’s ready. And she’s getting better at smoking joints, so she’s going to take a second to really enjoy this one. Daryl opens his mouth a few times but always shuts it again, taking the joint back whenever she offers it to him. When they’ve finally smoked all of it, Beth reclines in the hammock and looks up at the sky. 

“Are you okay?” she asks him, which is the most important question that she can think of. 

For a moment, Daryl chews on the side of his nail instead of answering. When he does, his voice is rough, and not from the smoke he’s been inhaling. “Nah.” 

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Beth tells him again. Not an accusation. An explanation. “I would never say that about you, Daryl. You’re the best guy I know. And that includes Rick and Glenn and my daddy too.” 

“Yeah?” he gives a humorless little laugh. “Can still say that, after what I did to you?”

“Did to me?” Beth asks in confusion, glancing at him. Daryl didn’t do anything to her. But then she realizes the depth of pain on Daryl’s face and the way he’s holding himself tightly, avoiding her gaze. One hand is fiddling with his lighter. The other is trembling on his stomach. “Daryl, you didn’t do nothing to me.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, voice breaking slightly, “I didn’t do nothing.”

“What do you think you did?” Beth gets up and moves to sit at his feet. Daryl refuses to look at her, still fiddling with the lighter. Beth wants to be slow and careful and not overwhelm him. But she’s also certain that if she doesn’t do something right now, Daryl never, ever will. So she reaches out and grabs his chin, turning his face to hers. Daryl doesn’t resist, just stares at her with his lower lip quivering. “Daryl, what do you think you did?” 

“Just like my dad,” he mutters, eyes downcast. 

Beth doesn’t know much about Daryl’s past. It's not like he's very forthcoming with that information. But she's met Merle and she knows that whatever shaped him into who he was, must have done the same to Daryl. And she knows that he’s got scars on his back, ones that he doesn’t hide but doesn’t show off. And they look a lot like the ones that her daddy has. So she leaves her hand on his check, thumb tenderly sliding across his skin. And she tells him the truth.

“Daryl, you’re nothing like your dad. Why would you think that?” 

“Got mad at you,” he reminds her and Beth recalls this, but she doesn’t see how that translates to him doing something to her. The words come out stilted, like he’s struggling over them. Beth waits patiently for him. “My dad… He’d do the same thing to my mom… Standing over her… Screaming, and then he’d — he’d — smack her.” 

“Oh Daryl.” she gets it now. She gets why he had been mad before, over a misunderstanding. And she gets why he has been so upset now, comparing himself to his father for his reaction. Feeling guilty for the fact that he'd done the same thing as his father, repeating the same cycles that he grew up in. 

“Scared of me,” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. “Just like she was of him.” 

“Daryl. No. No.” Beth climbs into the hammock with him, trying not to spill both of them out of it at the same time. Her heart breaks for him and she wants to assure him that he's not his father. He's nothing like the kind of man he must've been. “I wasn’t scared of you. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me — you’d never hurt me. I was scared that you were gonna misunderstand. And that we couldn’t do this anymore. That... That I'd ruined it.” 

He stares at her like he can’t even begin to comprehend her words. Beth just gently runs her thumb over his cheek, smiling slightly at him. She wants to show him that she is unafraid of him, that she’s still here. And slowly, his hand comes up to cover hers, pressing it to his cheek. And then he closes his eyes and lets out a harsh exhale, his whole body quivering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, after a long pause. 

“You’re not your dad, Daryl.” she threads her fingers with his again, maneuvering so that they’re side by side and she can recline by him. “You’re the best person I know.” 

Daryl doesn’t say anything. Not even when she rests her head on his shoulder and squeezes his hand and then roots around for the second joint that he always has. Daryl holds the lighter for her and then they split it, same as they always do. 

Beth holds him tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE SO MANY GODDAMN FEELINGS ABOUT DARYL DIXON WORRYING ABOUT BECOMING HIS FATHER AND I AM NOT SORRY ABOUT IT
> 
> comments make me cry friends (so do lots of things but this is what's most important)


	5. you hit me like a heart attack, like a lightning crack, everytime you leave, you got me begging come back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, excited and nervous for twd to resume tonight
> 
> me, wishing i was smoking a joint with daryl in a hammock
> 
> me, hoping you all like this

“Hey! What are you doing?” Carl asks, bounding up to Daryl’s side. Daryl glances down at him, trying not to look too guilty. He is just coming back from the weapons locker, which has become the center of Maggie and Glenn’s little bud operation. He’s got a few freshly rolled joints in his pocket and he’s off to meet Beth. But he can’t really tell Carl that. 

“Uh…” all rational thought flees his brain. “Nothing?" 

“Oh.” Carl looks a bit surprised by that, stopping for a second. Then he recovers. “Can you help me with something?” 

“What?” he asks suspiciously and Carl leads him away from the hammocks. Daryl casts a regretful look towards them as Carl brings him to what looks like a makeshift shooting range. Carl starts blathering about how they need to set up various targets and they should be training with different kinds of weapons and Daryl thinks that the kid has a point and that at any other time, he would've been thrilled to talk to Carl about this and brainstorm ideas and figure out how to make it happen. 

It’s just cutting into his time with Beth. 

“Hi!” Beth greets him with a wide smile when he finally manages to ditch Carl with the suggestion that he see if Glenn will help him craft targets and Daryl manages to sneak away to the hammocks. She’s already in one, idly weaving strands together into what looks like a bracelet. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, collapsing down into the hammock and wincing when it nearly launches Beth out of it. She laughs, getting her balance back and sliding into him. He's not sure when it became the unspoken rule that they always share the hammock, but he's become accustomed to feeling Beth's warmth and weight beside him. To not have it would ruin the whole purpose of the evening. 

“Where were you?” she asks without judgement and he gives a little scoffing laugh, pulling out the joints and his lighter. 

“Carl’s got an art project,” he informs her with a grumble and Beth’s eyebrows raise. 

“What kind of art project?” she demands and he hands her the joint so he can light it for her. 

“Target practice.” 

He has two joints. But they never take one each, they always split both of them. Daryl’s not sure if it’s habit since this is how they started out and they’ve just kept up the tradition, but now he’s acutely aware of the fact that this thing goes from lips to lips, from him to Beth and back again. He’s not sure how he feels about it, but as he takes the joint from Beth, their fingers touch briefly and he feels the goosebumps on his arms. 

“ — and you don’t know jack about John Wayne if you think the war series is his best work,” Daryl tells Beth, half grinning and glancing at her. He’s waiting for her to make a retort; usually she tells him that John Wayne’s filmography is vast and diverse and war films should not be compared to westerns. But right now, she’s silent, staring off into the distance, a blank expression on her face. So very carefully, Daryl says softly, “Beth?”

She jumps like he’s prodded her, turning her wide, startled eyes on him and he frowns slightly, reaching for her hand. Beth jumps again when he touches her, yanking her hand away with a little gasp. He recoils, instinct telling that she's finally realized how fucked up he is, only for her eyes to focus on him. Her face crumples with relief as she reaches up to touch his cheek and whisper, “Daryl?” 

“Yeah.” he relaxes slightly with the fact that she recognizes him. “Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

“No,” she whispers and then ducks into his chest, head hitting his chest hard enough to knock the air out of him for a split second. Unconsciously, he wraps his arms around her. “People… They’re coming for us. They’re coming Daryl.” 

Oh, fuck. 

“Okay.” he starts stroking her hair. It’s what his mama used to do for him, before she died, when she wasn’t too drunk to realize he was there. He hopes it brings comfort to Beth too, and he needs something to do with his hands so that Beth doesn’t realize he’s panicking. Because the last thing she needs right now is him freaking out about her freaking out. "Okay, okay, okay. It's okay."

Because there’s one tiny little side effect that can come with their smoking weed. And Beth’s never exhibited it before, so Daryl didn’t think that it’d be a big deal. But she’s evidently dealing with the paranoia. Daryl knows the feeling, knows how unsettling it can be, and that was before the world was plunged into the depths of a hell that has never been seen before. Beth's got to be feeling the anxiety. And it’s all his fault. 

He should’ve warned her. Should have given her a heads up or something, better prepared her for it. Or, and a novel fucking concept this is, he never should’ve let her smoke weed with him in the first place. Should’ve denied her back at very start, never kept coming to these hammocks and talking with her and splitting joints back are forth like they are friends or maybe something more. Because Beth Greene is nothing but trouble, and truth be told, Daryl is getting all too used to the fun kind of trouble she brings to his life. That’s a dangerous thing, especially for someone like him. 

And how the hell is he going to get her through this? Objectively, he knows that it’s probably for the best. Out of everyone, he has the most experience of dealing with someone on a bad trip. But Beth? Sweet, delightful Beth, who is the nicest, kindest, best person he knows? He’s hardly worthy of being her friend on a good day. He’s completely not up to the task of bringing her through this, especially when she’s snuggled into him like he’s her rock amidst a stormy sea. 

“Beth,” he says carefully, gently moving her back so he can see her face. She still looks uneasy, unsettled, and it rends his heart a little. She’s so young and innocent. He forgets that sometimes, when they’re bickering about movies and other inconsequential shit. “Beth, are you okay?” 

It’s a stupid fucking question. Of course she’s not okay. He’s an idiot for asking. But he needs to gauge where she’s at before he can help her. So he just keeps his arm around her, watching her carefully. She glances around and then shakes her head. “I dunno.” 

“Okay.” he didn’t expect her to be. “Okay, but it’s going to be okay.” 

“Yeah?” Beth looks up at him, so trusting, and he’s aware of how hollow his words must ring to her right now, but it’s all he has. So he nods for her. 

“Yeah. You wanna stay here?” he asks her gently. “Or do you wanna go to your cell, or somewhere else?” Daryl really doesn’t want to move her and risk exposing her to people around the prison, but he knows that the best cure for this is to make sure she feels safe and secure, and sitting out in the open in the hammocks might not be that. 

“No.” she is still for a moment and then practically climbs into his lap. “This is better.” 

Daryl doesn’t move a muscle, suddenly acutely aware of everything. The way her shoulders press into his chest. Her nose against the spot in his neck where his pulse ticks steadily. The weight of her in his lap. Just… Everything about Beth, everything about the fact that she’s here and she trusts him. It’s almost too much to bear. 

“This is going to pass,” he tells her softly, still stroking her hair. He’s barely holding on himself, but this calms him as much as he hopes it’s calming her. “No one is coming, you’re safe, and this is going to end.” 

“You’ll keep me safe?” she whispers to him and Daryl sucks in a ragged breath of the humid evening air. 

“Yeah,” he utters, painfully. “Yeah, Beth, I’ll keep you safe.” 

“Okay.” Beth ducks her head down again and curls tightly to him. He carefully wraps his arms around her and reclines back, the hammock gently swaying with the movement. Daryl waits until it stills, gently monitoring Beth. She’s breathing slowly and calmly, one hand fisted into the fabric of Daryl’s shirt. 

“Do you need anything?” he asks her quietly, after a few minutes have passed without her saying anything. He knows Merle has an old trick, something with pepper or lemons, but he doesn’t dare try to get up and leave Beth alone or sneak her to the kitchens. So whatever they’re doing, they’ll have to do it here. 

“Just… Talk to me?” she requests quietly. “And… Keeping telling me it’s gonna be okay?” 

“Gonna be fine.” he’s honestly a little bit proud that the his voice is so level. “No one’s coming. Just me’n’you.” 

“And if they do, you’ll protect me?” it’s one last reassurance in her timid voice. He just readjusts the grip he has on her. 

“Course. What else am I gonna do?” 

He tells her stories. He tells her the few good stories he has from childhood — the time he and Merle got milkshakes and Merle gave him the chocolate one because he knew that was his favorite. And when he’d spent one whole summer at the pool, and he taught himself how to swim. He leaves out how many times he damn near drowned in the process, of course, but he figured it out eventually. And the very first memory he has, of a blue wooden train. He wonders what happened to the thing. Probably burnt down with everything else. 

He tells her the bad ones too. Waking up after a party with a tattoo he doesn’t remember, a broken ankle, and one hell of a hangover. Tells her how he’s broken his hand so many times there’s days where it aches from nothing at all. All the bad shit he’s seen at Merle’s hands and his daddy’s before that. Tells her everything about him, scared that if he stops talking that she’ll slip away deeper into her fear. 

When the sun is down and the moon is high above them, Daryl finally runs out of words. He’s managed an impressive amount, so he decides to hush. He lapses into a tentative silence, still rubbing Beth’s back comfortingly. For a second, he thinks that she might be asleep. Then her quiet little voice tells him, “Daryl? I think I’m feeling better.” 

“Jesus christ,” he swears, exhaling a breath he’s somehow been holding this entire time. Then he stretches back to see her face, make sure she’s not lying to him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Beth looks a little sheepish. “Don’t feel like the whole world is gonna end, at least.” 

“Kinda already has,” he mutters and then realizes how stupid that is to say to her and so he watches apprehensively to see if she’ll have a negative reaction. Instead she chuckles. 

“Guess so. Still felt weird though,” she admits. 

“Fuck, Beth, I should have said something,” he tells her guiltily and Beth shakes her head. 

“No, I knew,” she tells him and he gapes at her. “Shawn got like that sometimes. I caught him once in the barn. He told me to get him some water and a blanket. We slept in the hayloft and daddy found us in the morning. Shawn made up some story about us looking at the stars, but after that I think he knew better.” 

“Been taking care of everybody for a long time now, huh?” Daryl observes and Beth gives a sad smile. 

“Not good enough,” she mutters. “You had to babysit me tonight.” 

“Don’t mind that,” Daryl admits, throat suddenly too dry. “S’my fault anyways.” 

“Why?” Beth frowns at him. “I thought it just happens randomly.” 

“Should’ve done something,” Daryl still insists and Beth lays her head back on his chest. 

“Didn’t you?” she points out simply. “Got me through all that.” 

“Still.” he doesn’t know what his argument is here, just that he doesn’t deserve the praise that she’s heaping on him. But then he freezes, because Beth has stretched up and is very carefully and gingerly pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she says softly before she climbs out of the hammock and departs. Daryl stays right where he is; if he doesn’t move, maybe he can fall asleep with the smell of her lingering in the arm and his chest still warm from the weight of her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. there really will only be one more chapter of this!! for a baby fic i never intended to write, this was a blast! i hope you enjoyed it and leave a review on the way out if you are so inclined!


	6. there's nothing I can say, nothing I can do, but every single day, I fall more in love with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends i hope you have been enjoying this. lord knows i had a blast writing it!!! 
> 
> thank you for tuning into 6 installments of nonsense and enjoy this last one!

All Beth wants to do is smoke and get high. She feels like it has to a problem because that's probably the textbook definition of an addiction, but hey. She’s got some really, _really_ good reasons. 

First up is the fact that the kids have been sharing a nasty cold amongst themselves for what seems like ages now. Sniffles, chills, headaches, and tiredness. And just when Beth manages to shake off whatever one kid passed her, she gets sick from another kid. She has felt like crap for at least a month now and she’s sick of it. That, and it makes all the kids crabby and irritable, and that makes it even more difficult to lead them through lessons than before. 

And everything keeps breaking. So now laundry is back on the washboards and drying lines. It’s an exhausting three hour ordeal just for a pair of clean underwear and Beth is so sick of the fact that she’d die for a pair of jeans that fit her and aren’t worn through to paper-thin, but that doesn’t seem possible given their current shopping situation. And she wants more than one bra to wear, but that’s never high up on anyone’s priority list these days. 

And finally there's the fact that Judith alternates between screaming for Beth and screaming for Rick and half the time they’re just desperately passing the baby back and forth, trying to appease her, and Beth probably still has throw up somewhere on her body, but one of the pipes for the shower burst and so now the line is twice as long as it usually is and Beth wants to spend her free time sleeping and not standing in line to get clean, so she doesn’t care to wash it off. 

All these things boil down to Beth being tired and crabby and all she wants is to lay in a hammock and relax for twenty minutes and maybe hold Daryl’s hand and see if he’ll tell her anymore stories about the antics he got up to as a kid with Merle. She never thought she’d like Merle stories so much, but she does, especially when they bring a gentle little smile to Daryl's face. It's not often Beth gets that smile, so she cherishes each and every one. 

She rolls her shoulders as she walks to the hammocks. Maybe Daryl will give her a back rub. Carol’d said once that he gave good ones. Beth would like the chance to see for herself. When she opens her eyes, she stops dead in her tracks. Because it’s not Daryl sitting there in the hammocks. Well, it is Daryl. But he’s not alone. He’s sitting there with wide eyes, staring at her in alarm, gaze darting back to the two other figures. 

“Maggie.” Beth’s mouth has suddenly gone dry. “What… What are you and Glenn doing here?” 

“I know things have been rough lately,” Maggie says sympathetically, rising to approach her and Beth blinks. “So… I thought I could help.”

“Okay.” Beth looks at her suspiciously. Helping would be getting the kids some antibiotics or fixing that pipe or going on a run solely for clothes that would actually fit Beth. 

“I talked it over with Daddy,” Maggie states, seriously, “and we both agreed that… You’re an adult who can make her own choices. So, if you want, we’re okay with it.”

Beth stares blankly at her sister, unsure what the hell Maggie is referencing. Then she realizes that Maggie is offering her something, holding it out in her hand. Beth has to actively work to focus on it, and only then does she see that it’s a joint, and that Glenn has an apprehensive look on his face and Daryl seems to be only a few moments away from passing out at the fact that he and Beth have been smoking together for months now, and Maggie seems to think Beth’s never so much as glimpsed such a thing. 

So Beth bursts out laughing. 

She doesn’t mean to. It’s just that things have been so grim lately. And she hasn’t really had a good reason to laugh. And for some reason, this strikes her as deeply, deeply amusing. 

“Uh… Beth?” Glenn looks a little worried, looking over at Daryl who is simply sitting there rigidly. “You… You okay?” 

“You don’t have to smoke it if you don’t want to,” Maggie assures her eagerly and Beth moves past the vocal stages of laughter and into the silent one, bending forward at the waist and holding her stomach as her side start to ache. “Beth? Bethy?” 

“Beth,” Daryl says loudly and pointedly. Beth recalls the panic on his face and so she reins herself in and gets control, for Daryl's sake. 

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, when she’s able to straighten up. She tries to sound as sincere as possible, even though she’s still giggling. “Really, Maggie. Thank you. I’m glad you and Daddy decided that I’m old enough to smoke something you’ve been sneaking since you were what, 15? Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.” 

Maggie has a look on her face like Beth has sucker-punched her. It's a face Beth is choosing to ignore as she goes over to Daryl and holds out her hand expectantly. He gives a little start and then forks over his lighter albeit reluctantly, blue eyes watching her like he has no idea what she’s going to do. Beth turns and takes the joint from Maggie, ignoring her incredulous expression and Glenn's flat out astonishment. Beth places the joint between her lips, giving it a little roll to dampen the paper, and then sparks the lighter at the end of it and sucks in a long, indulgent inhale. 

Maggie doesn’t start to splutter until Beth exhales the smoke in a long, controlled breath. Daryl’s been trying to teach her how to do rings and she's tempted to try, but she's also fairly certain that’ll push Maggie over the edge. As is, her big sister sounds like she’s going to have a coronary, speechless and stammering. 

“You — and I — how did — know — and to — that — smoking?” Maggie gapes at her. 

Beth is sick of keeping secrets. Beth is sick of sneaking around and acting like the best part of her day — of her week — isn’t the time she spends here with Daryl in these hammocks. Where he teaches her not just to smoke but a hell of a lot else. Where he opens up to her. When she feels that for first time since the world went to hell that she could picture a future, even if that future is just her and Daryl swinging together, talking about nothing and everything and something. 

So she holds the joint out to Daryl, just like they always do. And she gazes defiantly at Maggie the entire time, daring her to say something as Daryl takes the joint and brings it to his lips. And Glenn looks between the two of them, awestruck, and then abruptly he starts to laugh as well, slowly before he flings himself back in the hammocks and laughs harder and harder, clutching his stomach and kicking his feet for effect. 

“I told you she didn’t need your permission,” Glenn tells Maggie in an almost smug voice, once he can breath between fits of laughter and she turns to glare at him. Daryl passes the joint back to Beth, hands shaking slightly when they skim hers. 

“Beth.” Maggie faces off with Beth, her displeased expression consisting of pursed lips and her hazel eyes narrowed. “Have you been smoking with Daryl?” 

“Yeah.” Beth doesn’t bother to lie to her. “Have been, basically since you guys brought that stuff back here.” 

Glenn’s laughter nears hysterics. 

“Daryl!” Maggie says accusingly and Beth shakes her head, stepping in front of Daryl to protect him from Maggie's line of fire. Maggie can yell at Beth all day long; as the little sister, Beth is well accustomed to such things. But she's not going to let Maggie go after Daryl, not when she knows that if Maggie does so, Daryl is going to think that Maggie thinks poorly of him. Beth won't let Maggie trash his self esteem. 

“No, don’t yell at him Maggie. It was my choice!” 

“And he just happened to have weed?” Maggie asks tartly and Beth rolls her eyes. Maggie still sees her as a little girl and Beth hasn't been pushing that lately, given the circumstances and the state of the world. But acting like she'd only been able to stumble into smoking weed because Daryl led her astray? That's just wrong, and an insult to Daryl to boot. Beth's no innocent little lamb.

“Yeah, but only cause I practically forced him to share. Face it Maggie, you don’t have any reason to scold me, cause you were doing worse! Plus, I only ever smoked with Daryl. He was always right there, to take care of me, in case I needed it.” 

Maggie stares at Beth, her head tilted to the side slightly and a curiously blank expression there. Beth's about to keep ranting at her, but only stops because it suddenly occurs to her the depth of her words. Just what she relies on Daryl for. It's not's just the weed. It's not just the stories. It's being with Daryl. It's always been about being with Daryl, just being with him. Nothing more, nothing less. The two of them. Taking care of each other. 

“Maggie, c’mon,” Glenn says gently, clearly trying to placate her. Beth breaks eye contact with Maggie, glancing down while Maggie looks over towards Glenn. “Beth’s an adult. She can make her own choices. And she never did it with Judith or any of the other kids on her watch. Plus, I mean, if she was with Daryl…” 

“I can’t believe you.” Maggie shakes her head and Beth’s jaw drops. 

“Believe me?” Beth demands sharply, forgetting to worry about her bold declaration in front of Daryl. _“You_ can’t believe _me?_ God, you are a hypocrite!” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Maggie asks sharply as both Glenn and Daryl wince, looking like they'd rather be anywhere else than here, even on the other side of the fence into the walker filled forest. 

“You’ve been smoking weed since I was a kid, Maggie!" Beth yells, jabbing her finger accusingly towards her big sister. "Used to run down to the barn and smoke in the hayloft so Daddy couldn’t smell it on you. But when I’m an adult, and it’s basically been legalized, then suddenly I’m only allowed to smoke it under your supervision? That’s bullshit!” 

“Beth,” Daryl tries to rein her in, grimacing. Even Glenn looks at little scared at the level their voices are reasoning. 

“Maggie…” 

“So what else were you doing with Daryl, huh?” Maggie questions, her jab pointed and Beth gives a shrill laugh, refusing to look over toward Daryl. 

“That’s none of your business!” 

“So something then?” Maggie questions archly, hands on her hips and Beth is trembling with rage, from Maggie's assumptions and Maggie's judgement and the fear that she's really, really, going to ruin this fragile thing Beth has with Daryl. Beth can forgive Maggie for a lot of things, but she will never, ever forgive Maggie for that. 

“Jesus christ.” Daryl looks ready to throw up. 

Beth ignores him, even as she tastes blood in her mouth from biting her cheek in a desperate attempt not to scream at Maggie for messing everything up. “Even if we were, it’s not like you can tell me what to do, Margaret Carlin Greene!” 

“Oh man, the middle name.” Glenn buries his head in his hands. “That’s bad. This is bad.” 

“Bethany Maeve Greene, you better watch your mouth!” Maggie threatens right back.

They end with a staring match between the two sisters, Maggie having risen from the hammocks and trying to stare down Beth. Beth refuses to back down, glaring up at her without blinking. At some point, Glenn lights another joint and hands it to Daryl as the both of them watch the Greene girls, silent. Finally, Maggie cracks by glancing over to Daryl, some of the anger slipping when she sees how nervous he seems. 

“Don’t blame him,” Beth orders her, but in a softer, gentler tone. Pleading for Maggie to understand what she's actually saying, what she actually means. “It wasn’t his fault.” 

“You sure?” Maggie asks, her tone softer as well. Beth gives a little shrug, unable to help the smile that’s growing on her face. Maggie understands. She sees it, she gets it. She knows. 

“Pretty sure,” Beth admits, flipping the lighter over in her hands nervously. She resists the urge to glance at Daryl. “Think it snuck up on me.” 

“Then it probably hasn’t even occurred to him,” Maggie jokes weakly, still looking rather stunned and Glenn looks at the joint in confusion. 

“This making any sense to you?” he asks Daryl urgently, who shakes his head. 

“Sometimes I forget that you’ve grown up,” Maggie admits after a long pause and Beth laughs, slightly panicked at the direction this conversation has taken. 

“Me too,” she reassures her and then Maggie turns to Glenn, holding out her hand. Glenn turns over the joint, still watching with wide eyes and Maggie sighs. 

“No Glenn, I mean c’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Oh. Right.” Glenn stands and starts walking away, but not without one finally look back at Daryl with a bewildered expression. 

“What was all that?” Daryl demands once they’ve left earshot. Beth sighs and slumps down on the hammock, suddenly keenly aware that she’s wearing messy clothes with unwashed hair and probably the lingering smell of mashed peas or whatever she fed Judith today. Not the ideal time to do what she’s been thinking about, but… She’s not sure when would be. So she summons all her courage and tells him, 

“Maggie still sees me as some kid. But I’m not a kid. I can make my own choices,” she states with shaky hands and Daryl is still frowning like that’s been obvious, so Beth has to continue to explain it to him. “Choices like if I want to smoke weed or not. Or who I want to smoke weed with.” 

“Okay,” Daryl agrees, still looking rather nonplussed and Beth almost smiles, carefully taking his hand to still her own. 

“Or who I want to date,” she clarifies pointedly, heart beating in her throat, but she's too far gone now to stop. Daryl blinks a few more times, even as Beth slides her hand up into his hair, giving him her final confession. “I think I want to date you, Daryl Dixon.” 

“I…” words fail him entirely. And Beth figured they would, because Daryl isn’t great with words anyways so she takes over. She leans in and gently presses a kiss to his lips. They both taste like smoke and Beth again wishes for cute clothes or at least some dry shampoo. But then Daryl holds her face and deepens the kiss and Beth forgets anything that isn’t the two of them. 

Turns out, Daryl Dixon is better than any joint. 

He doesn’t say much after kissing her, just stares at her with wide eyes and a somewhat stunned expression. But he doesn’t stop kissing her, at least not until they’re both breathless and Beth is a little bit scared of how badly she wants things to continue. So she takes a deep breath and snuggles in with him, feeling the same sense of comfort as she always does when she's beside him. And he grants her another joint, pulled from the depths of his pockets and the lighter as well. 

“We gonna keep doing this?” she asks him curiously, as he lights the joint for her. 

“Smoking? Or… Kissing?” his voice is hopeful and she grins, a blush heating her cheeks. 

“Both?” she suggests, turning to her lips to his and kissing him before she gently places the joint between them. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, trying to hide the smile on his face, “sure.” 

“Good.” Beth smiles and relaxes back. “Tell me about that time Merle tried to steal a tank.” 

“Well,” Daryl says with a long sigh, “he was high on PCP and got it in his head that he was a World War 2 gunner, so he…” 

Beth smiles and takes the joint back, listening to Daryl tell his stories. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the love and support on this funny little snippets of mine.


End file.
